Out of the Strength Comes Forth Dutchy
by Mush's Skittles
Summary: Dutchy has a literally sickening secret. What would you do for a stranger in need? If you had nothing, what could you give?
1. My Story

Ch 1 All of us newsies have a story, and the children had been begging for me to tell mine for weeks, not believing that I actually don't know what happened to me. I remember certain things, like how to read, and how the streets of Manhattan were laid out, but I never could remember the details of my life before I was brought here. But the young ones had their way of making me seem like a hero and one day I caved to the flattery. It passed through my mind that I could tell them a marvelous tale about how I escaped from some villain, and they would believe every word of it, but I couldn't bring myself to lie to them. We lived in a severely real world, and it would not help to make my life seem any more or less exciting than it was. So one night, when it was Dutchy and my turn to watch the little boys, I sat down to tell them my little story. My history, if you will.  
  
"It's been about three years since that day; I was only twelve at the time. I don't really remember anything before it, just that it was horrible and I had to get away. That night is clear in my memory, although I've prayed to forget the panic, prayed to forget the anger, and the desperation I felt. Strange, how I can't remember the things that seem to matter, like my name, where I came from, my parents names, if I even had parents, or even what I was running from. All I remember is running through the disgusting streets, the rain seeming to chase me, egging me on, telling me to keep going, because if I didn't make it away from them this time, they would kill me. I held my skirts up and cursed my boots as they skidded and caught in the cobblestones on the street. And then I remember slipping on a wet newspaper and being thrown headfirst onto the grimy curb. The smell of the street had been almost overpowering. The humid day had extracted all of the smell from the discarded trash that morphed into a gray sludge when it rained. I fought for consciousness as I heard running footsteps approaching me. They were so frequent and loud, it seemed like a crowd, but it may have just been my injured head playing tricks with me. I felt something warm leaking into my eyes so I couldn't see. Then I heard voices shouting to each other, I felt a crippling pain in my stomach, and I lost the battle, letting myself slip into oblivion.  
  
"The next thing I was conscious of was a pair of sparkling blue eyes floating above me, floating in an almost blinding background of whitish yellow light. Slowly, as I blinked, a face materialized. The skin was pale; in fact everything about the face was pale, except for those glorious blue eyes. I thought I was dead; it was the logical effect of being chased by an angry mob, as I had believed I was. 'God?' I asked, reaching a hand up to touch the face. I don't know what compelled me to just reach up and stroke the pale, baby blond hair of the face hovering above me, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. The eyes smiled, and I could see a shadow of a mouth chuckling at me.  
  
"I ain't God, just somehow don't think God woulda come to this earth as a newsie, just a street rat.' The blue eyes seemed to wrap me up and hug me, and I smiled.  
  
"Oh..' I said, just glad that he was smiling. It made me feel good. I closed my eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.  
  
"When I woke up again, there were many faces staring at me, including blue eyes. I took my time and looked at each one of them. They all had soft, brown eyes except one boy, who had an eye patch. His visible eye was blue, but it did not sparkle. I searched for blue eyes, and found him right in the middle of all of the faces. He brought glasses out from somewhere, and placed them on his nose, smiling.  
  
"You'se awake. Good. 'Sa bout time. Had Davey look ya ova, and ya don't look too hurt, just a cut, here,' he said, lifting a finger and running it gently above my left eye. I reached up and felt the scab, gasping at the length of it. It ran along my eyebrow and even down my nose a bit of the way. 'And that's a beautiful shinah you got goin there.'  
  
"Oh. So that's why it hurt to move that eye, I thought silently. My world became more detailed as I woke up, and I saw that there were about five boys standing around me, looking relieved. I realized that I was in some sort of a bed, and meant to sit up to get a better view, but my newly clear world went fuzzy, and then swam in front of my face.  
  
"Yeah, don' think that's such a good idea, not quite yet,' blue eyes said, then put a hand behind my back and gently laid me down on the hard mattress.  
  
"As soon as my world became defined again, I was struck with a myriad of questions. I was scared at the idea that I did not know where I was, what I was doing there, how, exactly, I got there, and even who I was. The survivor in me searched for a way to take care of myself constantly and suddenly, I was scared to death. I looked at blue eyes in a panic. 'Where am I? Who are you? Who am I? How did I get here?' I asked desperately. The sense of chaos was taking over my mind, and I was starting to go to pieces. Blue eyes shoed the other boys away, and sat down next to me, taking my hand.  
  
"Now, calm down, miss. You'se alright now. You'se in the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. They call me Dutchy, and I don't know who you are or what you's called. Me an' Specs was runnin back to the lodging house to get outta the rain, and he tripped over ya. We brought ya back here, and you'se been sleepin ever since.'  
  
'Though it was good to know how I had got there, I was terrified by the fact that I had no idea who I was or what I was running from, and tears started flowing down towards my temples, and my eyes squinted painfully to try to stop them. It was a habit I had formed who knows where, but I felt like crying was the worst, weakest thing I could do, and I braced myself for repercussions. Dutchy was taken aback.  
  
"Oh, no, miss, it's okay now, see the sun is shinin, and it's tomorrow. It's a whole new day and you's get to start over. It's more than most of us gets, we usually has to just pick up and go, even with the memories. Now I sees you lost ya memory, ya musta, and I don't know if it's gon' come back, but I promise ya it's okay. I think you's even lucky. "Now you'se get some rest, cause tomarra, I'm takin ya sellin, and we'se gonna see watchu gots in the way of some talent.'  
  
'I was not thrilled at this idea. In my present condition, I didn't feel like I was going to be able to walk without getting dizzy for a month, and although I figured what Dutchy said was probably right, it did not soothe me. I couldn't remember anything and it was frustrating and scary. I wanted to have control of my situation, and without even knowing my name, I had absolutely none.  
  
"But, what's my name? Who am I running from? Where am I from?' I realized that I could be fifty feet away from my worst enemy and not even know it, for I could not remember for the life of me, almost literally, who or what they were.  
  
"I told ya, kid, I don't know. But don't worry. Jacky boy's got some of his boys askin Spot and King about any of their goils if they knows ya. We can protect ya if ya need it, we's used to it, we's all runnin from somethin'.' The poor Dutch boy seemed frustrated with me and I didn't blame him. I was frustrated with me. His look softened as we tried to stare each other down and I finally had to close my eyes in pain. He held out his hand, hesitated a moment, looked around then brushed a few tendrils of hair off of my face. I involuntarily tensed up at the look in his eyes. It seemed like he was sizing me up like I was dinner, and I didn't like it. He sighed, lost the look, and said, 'I'm gonna get the missus. She'll take care a ya, and give ya a room worth bein in, away from the boys. I don't like the idea of a pretty young goil like you bein in da room with them. They. well they ain't all like me...' I had only the faintest notion what he meant, but I nodded my head in agreement, bringing on a sharp jolt of pain through my head. He patted my hand, which he had grabbed when he was trying to convince me of my safety, and got up, cracking his back.  
  
"Dutchy left then and a bit later, a woman with a motherly smile came in to see me and carried me to a small room with a soft bed and soft light, with soft colors of fabric draping the walls. It was Mrs. Larson, though I didn't know that then. She was the proprietor's wife, and she became almost like a mother to me, but more like a friend and mentor. That day, she bathed me, fed me, gave me a nightgown to sleep in, and then washed my clothes while I slept some more. I woke up when it was dusk to see her rocking in a chair in the corner, sewing contentedly. I watched her deft little hands fly over a beautiful rose colored fabric, and smiled at the happy tune she whistled. She was a young wife, very pretty and very proper. Her jet-black hair was silky smooth and usually in a neat bun at the nape of her neck and her dresses flowed over her slim frame like water. Her green eyes were kind and sparkled, much like Dutchy's. 'Hello there, you're awake at last, you are,' she said in a barely-there Irish accent. 'And do you feel any better?' she asked, setting down her sewing and coming to look me over.  
  
"I'm feeling better, thank you very much.' I said as she took a rag from a bowl of water, dabbed the sleep out of my eyes, and gently positioned it over my cut.  
  
"I'll have the boys bring in an extra mattress and you can stay in here with me. They did the right thing washing this cut up, and it was right smart of them, but there is no care like a woman's, yes?'  
  
"Mmhmm,' I agreed, spellbound by her soft voice and charming manner of speech.  
  
"Now. Can you sit up?' I tried, and found that if I moved slowly, once I was up, I felt fine. Mrs. Larson helped me to her chair, and pushed me in front of her mirror. I winced. My long auburn hair looked like something could live in it; my eyes were all black and blue, and the cut above my eye looked gruesome. I looked scrawny and undernourished, and I was. My stomach growled as I thought of it, and I giggled, looking meekly at Mrs. Larson. 'Ah. And I suppose you're hungry?' She handed me a soft roll from a basket on the desk. 'Now, let's fix this gorgeous hair of yours.' Gorgeous was not the word I would have used to describe my hair, but Mrs. Larson seemed to have faith in it. She started brushing it gently and by the time it was all detangled, smoothed, and braided, it was dark, and the room was lit by two oil lamps. I yawned, and felt like sleeping again even though I had woken up not an hour earlier.  
  
"Aye, and you'll be needing your sleep. I'll just go get the boys now, and they've wanted to see you all day.' She smiled and opened the door. To our surprise, Dutchy fell into the room, rolling backwards. Mrs. Larson nearly got rolled over, and exclaimed, 'Dutchy, and what've you been doing here, boy-o?' I giggled again and noticed her accent got thicker when she was flustered.  
  
"Dutchy scrambled to his feet, snatched his hat off of his head, and readjusted his glasses. "I just wanted ta know how Miss was doin, ma'am, seein' as I's the one who brought her here." He rung his hat in his hands, and when Mrs. Larson smiled, he looked around her and sent me his own radiant smile, which I returned as well as I could while I yawned again.  
  
"Dutchy, you may talk to Miss as soon as you and some of the boys bring down a mattress for her, and don't be dawdling about it. Now shoo!'  
  
"Dutchy stayed long enough to give me a wave, and shot out of view. Mrs. Larsen turned back to see me leaning out of the chair, looking after Dutchy. 'Well, Miss, it seems to me they've chosen you a name, and a pretty one it is too.'  
  
"What?' I asked. I hadn't heard anyone call me anything in particular.  
  
"Why, didn't you hear it? Maybe it's because I've been hearing newsies naming each other my whole life, but it seems obvious,' she explained, sorting out some more fabric, and putting it in a pile on the desk. I was about to ask why it was obvious when she answered my question. 'Oh, and I suppose it's a tone of voice. You can say I'm wrong, and I'll bet my bottom dollar they'll be calling you Miss for as long as you know them.'  
  
"I smiled, and felt myself regaining a bit of the control that I had felt I'd lost when I lost my memory. Maybe it was being clean, maybe it was being comfortable and feeling good, but I started to feel some hope growing in my heart. 'Miss.' I said out loud, savoring the sound of it. Yes, I thought. It sounded like me. 'Miss.' 


	2. Gone

Ch. 2 I finished my story, and the kids looked bored. "That's it?" a boy with pale skin and shiny dark hair, named Esky, asked incredulously.  
  
"That's it." I said. "I told you it was really nothing. I'm not a hero, and my story isn't even very sad."  
  
"I thought it is a good story," a little girl by the name of Jump said, climbing into my lap. She was the only other girl besides me, one Dutchy had found unconscious on newspapers in an alley the week before. Dutchy was the one responsible for bringing in most of the kids to the Lodging house to sell for Manhattan. He just couldn't leave them there, it wasn't in his nature. Jump was a feisty spirit, and though we couldn't get her to talk about her past at all, she was friendly enough, cute as a button, and a hard worker if I ever saw one. I immediately claimed the girl as mine to teach and sell with, noticing her blonde ringlets, and bright blue eyes that she could use to charm the customers. She clung to me like static and seemed to live in fear of disappointing me.  
  
"Thanks, Jump." I said. I looked around to find Dutchy, and to my surprise, found he wasn't in the room anymore. I figured he had gotten bored and went down to the common room to play cards, drink a bit, or whatever he wanted. It didn't concern me in the least-then.  
  
"C'mon, kids. Ain't ya gettin tired yet?" Esky asked, watching a couple of boys yawning. The summer air in the night was seductive, and I was just about ready to plop, so I hoped the kids were tired. As they all denied they were sleepy, Esky, who was always leading them, started yelling at them again.  
  
"C'mon now, kids, ya wanna be able to sell tomarra, doncha?" he asked, sounding just like the famous Jack Kelly, the Cowboy, the leader of the Manhattan newsies. They all yelled in protest, but spread out in the bunkroom to their bunks, and most were asleep by the time Jump and I had left the room. I swear she was never tired, and she slept with me in Mrs. Larson's room anyway. We made our way to the common room where Racetrack, Kid Blink, and Mush were playing poker. Or, I should say, Kid Blink and Mush were losing to Racetrack in a game of poker.  
  
I did a quick once over of the room and sat down to be included in the next game, but I was picking up my cards as I stopped short and felt something wrong in the room. I stood up and looked around some more; unable to put my finger on what was bugging me.  
  
"Miss, ya playin or are ya not?" Racetrack asked irritably.  
  
"Race. where's Dutchy?" I asked, dropping my cards on the table.  
  
"Guess not." Race muttered.  
  
"I dunno Miss, I didn't see him come in, maybe he went outside?" Mush asked, laying his cards down as well.  
  
"Well, ya can't freakin play pokah wit two people!" Race said in a tizzy. We ignored him.  
  
"Mush, go look upstairs, I dunno, maybe he was up there and I didn't see him. And I'm gonna go look for him outside."  
  
"Not alone, ya ain't." Blink said,  
  
"Racetrack, watch her." I said, entrusting Jump to the seething gambler. Racetrack grumbled  
  
Blink and I rushed out of the room.  
  
"Whoa, whoa! Where you two going?" yelled Mr. Larson as Blink and I sprinted into the black night.  
  
"Dutchy!" I yelled to Mr. Larson.  
  
"Heh?" Mr. Larson shook his head and didn't worry about it. He'd had kids disappear before; it was no big deal for him, even though some of the other newsies took it hard. Sometimes they even came back.  
  
Blink and I ran all the way around the New York City block, went through the alleys, and even asked members of the crowd that was leaving the theater after seeing Medda Larkson, the Swedish Meadowlark, a vaudeville performer. Most of them shunned us when we asked about a skinny, blonde, pale teenager, but the ones who helped us looked at us with such pity that it disgusted me, and we returned to the lodging house soon after.  
  
Blink and I entered the common room to find that most newsies had either fallen asleep in their spots or gone up to the bunkroom. Race was one of the few that were awake. He was sitting with his back to Blink and me, staring out the window, stroking the hair of Jump, who was asleep in his lap. He might seem like the big scary gambler, always chewing on his stogies and trash talking his opponents, but we all knew he had a soft spot for kids. I smiled in spite of myself until I saw Mush heading my way.  
  
"Miss, did ya find him? Cause he ain't here, we looked everywhere."  
  
"We didn't see him, and we went all the way to Medda's. I don't know where he could be? I don't even know when he left." I got that sick feeling in my stomach that accompanied itself with crying. It was the feeling that I was weak and worth nothing. Racetrack had gotten up and was carrying Jump over to me. He had his poker face on again, and dumped her into my arms.  
  
Mush slapped him on the back as he walked out of the room and he and Blink started rousing the sleeping newsies so they'd get up to the bunkroom. I laid Jump in a chair, amazed that she was still sleeping, and climbed out onto the fire escape, with some difficulty coming from my skirts. Mush laid a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Miss, he'll be back tomorrow, he ain't stupid. He needs ta sell so's he can stay here."  
  
"But what if something happened to him? What was he thinking, just taking off like that?"  
  
"Dunno but there ain't nothin we can do about it without riskin our tails so ya just get some sleep, and he'll be here in the morning wakin ya up like every day." I could tell even Mush wasn't sure of what he was saying, but what else could I do? It would be stupid, even for someone like Jack, to go out searching all over creation in the dark, when even the most alert fighter could be surprised and overtaken. So I gently carried Jump to our room with Mrs. Larson, careful not to wake either of them up, and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling until dawn, when I finally fell asleep. 


	3. Something's Wrong, But We're Alive, Righ...

Ch. 3 The next day was Sunday, and we all slept in a bit. Jump and I stayed in Mrs. Larson's room on Dutchy's request. I was glad he was so insistent about me sleeping there. In truth, though I fully trusted most of the boys in Manhattan, there were some that I would never trust to sleep in the same room with. I knew a few of them had girls up there all the time, and it was something I just did not want to be a part of. They didn't think of me as a "working goil," as they called them, but I didn't want to give them any reason to start. This lodging house was the only thing I had in my life that was a constant, and I wasn't even guaranteed a place, if I ever stopped selling. I had to pay the five cents a week fee like every other newsie.  
  
I awoke to a pair of devastating blue eyes staring me down, and for a moment I wasn't sure if they belonged to Dutchy or Jump, but I soon learned as I was attacked by the little seven year old bundle of energy.  
  
"Miss! Miss, is you awake yet? I seed you's eyes open!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," I stretched and forced myself not to correct her speech. It was too early and I'd just confuse both of us by saying, "No, are you awake," so I contented myself with peeling her off of me and tickling her. I dressed Jump and myself, and fixing a hat on my head, I lead Jump over to where Mush had his hands full with all the kids.  
  
"Mush, you under there?" I called. From what I could see, he was a pile of rowdy seven to ten year olds with a curly mop peeking out the top.  
  
"I tink so!" I heard his muffled call and let Jump run and dive into the pile of kids, who now decided it would be a good idea to tickle him until he fell to the floor hysterically laughing. Every newsie quickly found out that Mush was so ticklish, you could get anything from him by threatening to tickle him to death.  
  
I left the pile that was Mush and made my way over to the common room where a bunch of newsies were lounging around, enjoying the relative calm that was always Sunday mornings. Some greeted me, but most just went on talking or playing their card game, eating a saved roll or whatever they were doing.  
  
I looked around for Dutchy and found that he was sitting in a shadowed corner, staring off into space, his mouth hanging open. His eyes were glazed over, and his glasses were in his hand. I gasped and ran over to him.  
  
"Dutchy! Where were ya last night!? You had me worried sick, Blink and I ran all the way to Medda's looking for you, and we couldn't find you, and I was so afraid you were never gonna come back-" I stopped short when he didn't acknowledge my presence and waved a hand in front of his face.  
  
"Duuuuuu-tchy? Dutchy?" I asked, frowning. He continued to stare off into oblivion, and I picked up one of his hands, shuddering at its wintry, clammy feel. I felt that sickening feeling again, warning me that I was about to cry. I felt like such a sick weakling. I was disgusted with myself.  
  
So I stopped trying to rouse him, gathered all my courage, pulled my hand back slowly, and slapped him in the face.  
  
"Whadda, whassa, do dat foah?" he screamed, leaning back against the wall. My eyes were each as wide as a saucer as I tried to figure out what it was that had him so.detached.  
  
"Dutchy. you were. gone. I didn't know what else to do you weren't looking at me, you weren't talking, and I thought you had fainted or died or something."  
  
Dutchy interrupted my rambling with a slimy, sweaty hand over my mouth. "Miss, is okay. I's fine. Now. jus. sit for a minute." He looked purposefully over my shoulder and I suddenly realized that even Mush and the kids were dead silent and staring at me.  
  
Jack walked in at that moment and looked around at our silent faces. "What? What? Who died?" He asked.  
  
"Dunno, but I guess Dutchy was bein weird, Cowboy." Mush spoke up, herding the kids out into the sun, as it was just about time for the afternoon edition of The World to be sold.  
  
"Out! Everyone! Ya newsies or what, lets get goin!" Jack barked at the newsies. They got up, and slap boxing, playfully berating each other and discussing Dutchy and my strange performance, made their way out into the sun to the distribution offices. Dutchy and I stayed at a sharp look from Jack. He took on a look of concern and strolled over to us. Confident that Jack had the situation under control, the other newsies found their selling partners, and started discussing the day's selling out in the square. Dutchy was sitting in the shadowed corner looking like a ghost. He was pale by nature, with pale lips, pale skin, pale hair, pale eyebrows, and pale eyelashes, but I noticed at that moment that his skin looked draped over his cheekbones, and held none of its usual patina. Dutchy, my best friend, companion, and selling partner, actually, physically pushed me roughly away as he became uncomfortable with my examination of his appearance. I fell against the wall with a sickening crunch of my toes, which had been curled under me.  
  
"Hey! That ain't no way to treat a lady, and ya best friend at that!" Jack raised his voice in disgust and helped me up. Dutchy stood as well, cracked his knuckles this way and that, and for a moment, I didn't recognize him. There was a rage in his tired, sunken eyes that I'd never seen before. He looked like he wanted to talk back to Jack, but suddenly he looked surprised. A bit of the kindness came back into his baby blues, and a ghost of a sad smile flitted across his pale lips. He reached out to touch my arm, but Jack moved to stand in front of me. "Apologize, Dutch boy," Jack demanded, spitting out Dutchy's name like a curse.  
  
I stepped out from behind Jack, and before anybody could say anything or move, I flung my arms around Dutchy's neck and he wrapped me up. Jack flinched towards us, and then relaxed as he heard Dutchy's murmurs.  
  
"I's sorry Miss, ya know that, ya just creeped me out, I's just tired, is all. If ya only knew."  
  
"Only knew what?" I murmured back, not really caring. I wasn't usually into other people's business anyway, not even my closest friends. I buried my head in the gangly boy's chest and stood for a moment, enjoying the feeling of comfort. I knew it was all okay. He knew it was all okay. We just did. It was a basic principle of a friendship; one had to trust their friends completely, and trust was one of the main things we had built our friendship upon. I trusted Dutchy with my life, and he trusted me with his. I would do anything to protect him, and he would do anything to protect me.  
  
Jack left, sighing and a bit cut down after I had shown him a blatant disregard for his help. He trudged out of the lodging house muttering something incoherently. We watched him walk out of earshot.  
  
"Dutchy," I turned to him, and sought the intimacy I found only with him. It's that secret lingo people share communicated with the complex words and dialects of the eyes, the window to the soul. There was only one person I could read like an open book, and now I could see the hurt behind Dutchy's eyes. "Where were you last night?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. I walked with him slowly to the distribution offices, hoping to God that they still had some papes. I was surprised when I heard him start talking.  
  
"Ya know, it's okay, Miss. Cause we gots food ta eat, and a roof ova our heads. and we neva hafta worry about, about. sickness, or starvation, or freezing to death." He paused and I didn't say anything, afraid that if he was going to continue, I would stop him. "An-and even if is just 'cause we's needed by Pulitzah 'n them , even if we's just used and treated like scum. we's alive ain't we? Ain't we Miss?" I smiled at his enigmatic question.  
  
"As alive as it's possible to be, Dutch boy. We are so alive." I couldn't help thinking about how the fear had taken a grip on my heart earlier that day when his eyes had been so shallow, so cold. More like glorified marbles in a life-sized rag doll than the actual soulful orbs I had come to depend on. 


	4. He Keeps Secrets Like A Wolf

I don't usually write notes to reviewers or disclaimers on my chapters but I feel the need to spotlight my best reviewer and one of my best friends, and definitely my best cousin, Glimmer. I would like the readers to know that she toots my horn way to much, and really I'm not that amazing. She writes fantabulous fics too, but her shorts are my favorite, so go read her stuff before I soak ya. I would also like to thank everyone else: Kaylee, Sparkle (another of my best budz) , and Keza. Anyway. Here we go. ~Skittles~ hl  
  
The long summer days of that July were some of the hottest I could remember, which wasn't much, considering I could remember very little. Still, you could practically see the sun beating the energy out of the people around me who were walking like wet rags. This was horrible not only because it felt about sixty-thousand degrees, but it was humid. Right around July 15th or 16th, it became unbearable. And not only because of the heat.  
  
Dutchy and I had been having a bad day selling. Jump was complaining constantly about the heat, and although her withered and sweaty appearance sold us a few extra papes that day, we were selling horribly.  
  
"Curse the headlines." I muttered as a young couple walked by me, glancing over, shrugging and walking away.  
  
"Hey." Dutchy tried to conjure up some enthusiasm as he chided me. "You know what Jacky-boy says--"  
  
"Headlines don't sells papes!! NEWSIES sells papes!" Jump interrupted, quoting the famous line.  
  
"Yes, well, honey, these two newsies don't seem to be charmed today. Hello Dutchy."  
  
I grabbed Jump's hand at the unfamiliar voice and spun around. To my surprise, a woman dressed in a raggedy dress and holding a very small child by the hand was smiling behind us, talking to Jump.  
  
"Who-" I started, but Dutchy cut my off.  
  
"Mrs. O'Dell!" Dutchy exclaimed. "You're not supposed." I sent Dutchy a look, one of my "Okay, I'm completely confused, someone, enlighten me!" looks. He responded with a "Scrambling for excuses" look so I felt a twinge of suspicion.. What was he hiding? Mrs. O'Dell continued.  
  
"Dutchy, lad, I wanted to come and thank ye. Ye've done a very good service to us, ye have, and I wanted you to know that. what?" Dutchy had been nodding at her furiously. If he was trying to hide something from me, he was doing a terribly botched up job of it.  
  
"Um, uh." Dutchy faltered.  
  
I feigned a politely confused stature and said, "Yes, do tell us. What Dutchy? What are you trying to hide?" I inquired, loosing my fake politeness, and replacing it with the anger of a lied to friend.  
  
"Nothing." Dutchy murmured. Mrs. O'Dell looked confused.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said to the tiny wisp of a woman, and looking in her dancing green eyes. "Dutchy never told me he knew you. who are you exactly?"  
  
But Mrs. O'Dell had seemed to get the hints Dutchy had been floundering with, and I could tell she didn't give me a straight answer. "Oh, I had been a friend of his mother's! 'Twas a fine friendship and I had just recognized her handsome boy, all grown up." She seemed to have forgotten what she said about thanking Dutchy. "I'll just be going now." She smiled at Dutchy and hurried away down the street. Dutchy breathed an audible sigh of relief. I turned on him.  
  
"What was that all about? Who was she? How do you know her, really? What was she thanking you for?"  
  
"Well, gee, Miss, ya don't hafta get all suspicious on me. was just a friend of me mother, nothing more, and I'd visited her yesterday while you was takin ya nap. 'S nothing at all." Too bad she said she just recognized you, I thought. But I gave up, and looked around me. The sun was setting and there were only a few people on the streets. I still had a handful of unsold newspapers, but no one was buying in this weather, we barely had the energy to breathe.  
  
"Curse the heat."  
  
"Now dat's something' ya can curse." Dutchy grumbled. We headed back to the distribution offices to sell back our papers to the distributor. I hated doing that, it was so embarrassing.  
  
"Miss, I's hungry!" Jump whined at us.  
  
"We'll take ya ta Tibby's, sweety." I said, tiredly. Couldn't we just eat something at the lodging house that night? I was so tired.. But for Jump, I could never seem to make myself just take the easy way out, so we marched on back out of the square towards the tiny little restaurant.  
  
As we passed the lodging house, Dutchy stopped. I wouldn't have noticed that he stopped, but he had let go of Jump's other hand and she yanked on me.  
  
"What?" I asked irritably. The sun was sinking further into the west, and I wanted to get to Tibby's and back before long. "Wait here a minute, Miss." He sprinted into the lodging house. A couple minutes later, Mush, looking like he had no idea where he was going, wandered out of the door. When he saw us, he jogged over. The back of his shirt was all sweat, and I could tell he had been sleeping, because he had that dazed look about him.  
  
"Heya Miss, I's supposed ta take ya ta Tibby's. Dutchy said he's feeling a little under the weather." I sighed. Didn't he just sprint into the lodging house? Looked fine to me..  
  
"Alright. He's being so weird today anyway." I said. Mush, Jump, and I headed out to Tibby's.  
  
When we came back to the lodging house, the common room was strangely quiet. Even Racetrack had set down his cards in the oppressive heat that was covering us and suffocating us like a blanket drawn over the head. A few newsies were talking lazily, but most were staring, or dozing off. Some had their shirts off and wrapped around their foreheads while they sat writing or reading, or whatever they needed to do. The kids were complaining, they were thirsty, they were hot, they couldn't move right, and they were sweaty..  
  
"Shuddup you boys, or I'll soak ya so ya blood cools ya off, ya want that?" Racetrack snapped in frusturation. Blink groaned.  
  
"Race. Don't tawk loud like that, ya heatin up the air." Jack said. He had untied his red bandana and was using it to wipe his forehead. His cowboy hat was in is other hand, absentmindedly being waved, and hitting Mush, who had gone over to share the Cowboy's breeze, on the head at every flap.  
  
Their lethargy was contagious, and even Jump was dozing in her seat. I didn't worry that I didn't see Dutchy; I assumed he was up in the bunkroom. If he was really sick. I thought briefly about how he could have disappeared again, but thinking was giving me a headache, and when you're in a heat induced stupor, it hurts to worry. The sun set suddenly, as it does in summer, and Mush turned on the oil lamp. There was a collective groan, and he didn't say a word as he turned it off. We'd be talking by the moonlight tonight, not willing to make it any hotter in the room. Mush got up and herded the kids upstairs, where they each soaked a hat or a shirt in cold water to sleep with. Jump had fallen asleep on my lap. My legs were burning with her body heat, and I felt like I'd die from overheating if I didn't move, so I carried her gently to Mrs. Larson's room, where she was sitting, sipping water and fanning herself.  
  
"Tuckered out already, is she?" She said softly. I nodded. It was early for the kids to be all asleep, but I was glad because I felt fatigued too. I grabbed the old hat Dutchy had given Jump and walked up the stairs to wet it. I sponged a little of its blessed coolness onto my face as I walked down the stairs.  
  
Thoughts of how the streets were less crowded today than I had ever seen drifted through my weary brain, and I felt a little worry worm its way in through the cracks of fatigue. If we kept having days like this, when no one was selling well because no customers wanted to be outside at all, it would put all of us in a pinch. I'd noticed that night that the prices at Tibby's had gone up a couple of cents. It's barely anything to the usual customer, but when you're earning about twenty cents a day, then spending most of it on food, a few cents can mean no food. Living as a newsie had taught me a bit of essential arithmetic. If I bought 50 papes, it's 30 cents. If I sold all of them, I made a profit of 20 cents. Then if I bought a sandwich and a drink at Tibby's that's 12 cents. So I made a profit of eight cents that day. On days like this, when I can only sell thirty of my fifty papes, I can sell my extra twenty back to the paper and I get the twelve cents I paid for them, then I make no profit and still have to buy dinner. And lunch. And at the end of each week, I have to pay five cents to live in the lodging house. I knew this, and I hoped to God that the weather would cool off, or I'd be sleeping on the streets. Back where I must have started.   
  
I was musing on this thought walking down the stairs when I bumped into something that yelped.  
  
"Miss, ya scared me!"  
  
"Dutchy? I thought you were upstairs?" I had never looked though.. I had gone into the washroom which was on the other side of the hallway.  
  
"Upstairs?"  
  
"Mush told me you were feeling sick and I assumed you had gone up to bed!"  
  
"What? I ain't sick. I told him ta tell ya I had ta go out and do something!"  
  
"You did?" We walked into the common room where several newsies that were still conscious had looked up. Dutchy and I were easily the loudest thing in the lodging house at the moment.  
  
"Mush! Why didn't you just tell me what Dutchy said?"  
  
Mush, looking like a puppy with his tail between his legs, wandered up uncomfortably. "Well, Miss, ya kinda went ta pieces when he wasn't heah last time, so I figured it'd be bettah if ya didn't hafta worry."  
  
"Oh.. You're probably right." I sighed. What was the deal lately? It was taking up all my energy just trying not to be befuddled by Dutchy's actions lately. "I am going to bed, it's been a long, stinky, sweaty day." Mush shrugged and turned to walk back to the common room. I was unwilling to think about anything, so I started to just walk away instead of talk to Dutchy like we usually did, but he caught my arm. I turned around looking frustrated, but Dutchy just hugged me.  
  
"Night Miss."  
  
"Night Dutchy."  
  
I trudged to the room, and fell almost immediately asleep to the sound of Mrs. Larson's rocking chair. Then I woke up into the still harsh heat of the night. It must have been a couple hours later, but I had had a nightmare that had something to do with running, and heat searing my skin, and I had no sense of time. I was bathed in sweat and decided that no one would mind if I went to cool myself off at the pump upstairs in the washroom. As I was quietly creeping out of my room, I noticed Jack sleeping in a chair. He usually refused to go to sleep until all the others were in bed, and then he would lumber off to his bunk. I'd never woken in the middle of the night like this before, so I didn't know if he fell asleep there often, but he looked uncomfortable so I went to wake him up.  
  
"Jack. Jack. Wake up and go to bed." I whispered, gently shaking his shoulders. He snorted, and jerked awake.  
  
"I'll soak ya, I'll soak ya I will!" He yelled, rather groggily. I jumped and heard something plunk on the other side of the room. He was alert in a second with his finger up to his lips in that universal gesture to remain silent. For a few moments, there was silence, and then we heard a stair creak. And another. Creak, creak, crack, squeak.. Someone was walking down the steps. From our position at the back of the common room, we couldn't see the stairs. All we could see was the five or so feet of open space from the bottom of the stairs to the front door. Quick as a flash, someone who was all elbows, knees and straight, ear-length blonde hair pulled a key out from under his shirt, unlocked the door, and slipped into the night. I recognized him and elbowed Jack, mouthing his name: Dutchy. Jack and I waited until my best friend's footsteps faded into the distance, and I burst.  
  
"Where is he going so late?"  
  
"Don't know, but we're gonna find out." He ran up the stairs two at a time, and came silently down with a dark newsie I knew as Stealth. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and tan skin, looking like an Indian. I had never heard him speak, but I had seen him talking with Jack occasionally before disappearing.  
  
"Stealth, we saw Dutchy leaving here 'bout two minutes ago, headin' east. He shouldn't be too far away; Is gon ask ya ta follow 'im."  
  
The newsie didn't ask questions, just nodded and left like a flash through the door Dutchy left open, sprinting silently down the street in his bare feet. I found this odd. It seemed to me that bare feet would slap and make even more noise, but as hard as I listened, I could hear nothing.  
  
"Why doesn't he wear shoes?" I asked Jack, who was looking out the window to the street.  
  
"I guess it makes him silent. Have ya ever watched him run? He's low to the ground, and his knees is all bent up. He looks like a wolf. And 'is feet are calloused. he probably don't even feel the sting of the street hittin his feet."  
  
The sound of Jack's steady voice was soothing my spinning brain. I felt my eyes fluttering, and I let a huge yawn escape. Jack smiled at me.  
  
"Go back to bed, Miss. Ain't nothing ya can do."  
  
I gratefully retreated to my bed, with the thought that all of this confusion would be settled in the morning. "I love mornings." I said quietly to myself as I lowered myself onto my mattress. I slipped into a comfortable sleep and dreamt about running all over Manhattan, low and silent like a wolf, following a scent and a glimpse of blue eyes and yellow hair. 


End file.
